


King of the Underworld

by AudreyG



Category: Saint Seiya, 聖闘士星矢: 冥王神話 | Saint Seiya: The Lost Canvas
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-31 21:30:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6488101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AudreyG/pseuds/AudreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Prisoner of Hades. AU. Shun is trapped in the 18th century, unbeknownst to him. He tries to understand the world around him but his body is failing him. The weaker he gets, the closer to the underworld he is. And with familiar faces appearing, and a curse upon him, he feels it will be a matter of time before Hades claims his soul. Or has he already?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It is the rewritten story of King, but it is also not. It's entirely new. Different Routes. Different Plot. Same characters.

**Chapter One**  

The pain became indistinguishable. Like a numbness paralyzing his bones. It felt serene, peaceful, the tell-tale signs of death approaching his door. For a few hours, anyway. Death, always fleeting, lacked a presence in the Underworld.  

Movement alerted his senses. He struggled to open his eyes. Tired, he barely lifted them to see his boot—or perhaps the shine of his armor—move to the other side of the room.  

“You’ve grown quiet.” 

Something wet, his blood no doubt, trailed down the side of his nose. The blade dug an inch closer to his forehead. It distracted him for a moment, reminding him of the pain he initially forgotten. Death would not come so easily. Not when the Lord of the Underworld extended his time, if only for a moment longer, to remain alive.  

The chains rattled against his protest then he fell slack. His breathing echoed across the room. 

“Still alive. Good." Footsteps approached and ended in front of him. “As I mentioned before, all it takes is a confirmation. What say you, Shun?” 

Strength anew, Shun opened his eyes, and there, standing before him, the God of the Underworld waited for his response. But he did not receive one; his strength fleeting, he could not utter a sound. The blade inched closer. Shun gritted his teeth. Hades, displeased, roamed across the room. 

"You cling to her, even when nothing remains of her. Not even her saints."—a rustle forward—"To follow her would mean the same fate." 

His fingers twitched, the chains around his wrist tightened.  

"Do you not understand?" No elicit response, so he continued, "Not every warrior is loyal to their master. Surely you must have seen a few of your comrades bear my mark." 

It came to him, all of sudden, a soft, utterance, "Puppets." 

Hades replied, a jovialness in his tone, "Precautions."—pause—"It's better to have a puppet than to have a free will." 

Fingers twitching, he felt his body stir with vitality. Adrenaline struck every nerve, awakening his body from a groggy state; and along came the pain, increasing by the bit, as he stretched his neck to face his captor. 

Blue eyes returned his gaze, intrigued, but apathetic. No words exchanged. The silence became the dominant substitute. Then it was broken by a smile, and death came quickly. Hades's displeasure remained affixed upon his features.   

An angry god, that he was. So easily invoked by the simplest disobedience.  

If Shun could only feel his face, he was sure that he would be smiling as of now.  

In the prison of the dark world, where he drifted along, the silence brought back memories; memories of his time in the underworld, memories that he wanted to forget. He wished he could remember his brother, his friends, of the happier times he held with them but the dominant presence in his mind was none other than Hades.   

From the torture and screams to his friends’ impenetrable prison to the dungeon he was in, there was no escaping what he endured. He remembered his mistakes, from his hesitation in battle to his agitation to flee from his prison cell; it haunted him down his dark descent. No wonder Chronos easily subdued his mind with promises of escape. How he wanted freedom.  

But freedom never came. 

Just another prison cell he moved and remained. 

Down the darkness, he drifted.  

Down the dark abyss. 

Until all that remain was him and the insufferable memories caged within him. 

…  

… 

 Perhaps the gods pitied him and saved him from his prison. He laid on a mattress, or what he perceived as one, and felt the distinction between reality and solitude. Foreign hands touched his face, a wet substance cooling him. Curious, he opened his eyes. The light blinded him the minute he did. He shut his eyes tight, the swirling lights of red illuminating behind his eyelids.  

“It’s okay,” a tender voice spoke to him. “You’ll be okay.” 

The reassurance helped little to ease his nerves. But, as much as he wanted to remain awake, the darkness took him into a slumber he desperately needed. When he awoke, he slowly opened his eyes and perceived a hazy sight. He shut them, and it remained shut, even when there was more than one person inhabiting the room.  

…  

…  

Maria knew that he no longer slept. Alert, cautious, he remained, even when she exhibited a mother's touch. Nothing could ease him. It made her wonder: what could she do to alleviate his nerves? 

With both hands cradling his face, she pressed her forehead against his and offered a prayer to Asclepius—"May his wounds heal and may he survive."—and to the spirit Pistis—"May your good faith touch his heart and may he trust me." She kissed his nose and then his forehead and ended her prayer. 

Spirits lifted, Maria leaned back and opened her eyes, her hands still pressed against his cheeks. And staring back at her were the dullest pair of green eyes, aloof and listless, spirit lacking. Frightened, she could not look away, not even at the request of her friends. Those green eyes stared straight at her soul.  

Then he shut his eyes, and the spell shattered. 

She took in a deep breath, placed her hands above her racing heart. 

"Maria?"  

At the sound of her name, she turned to Anna.  

"Is something the matter?" 

Not wanting to distress the girl, Maria shook her head and stood. "I..." She looked back at the young man. Asleep, he did not stir. "I'm just worried." 

Anna approached. "He'll be fine. It's like you said. As long as we have faith, he'll recover." 

Maria turned away from him and stared at the young girl. A smile beamed on Anna's face. She reluctantly smiled in return. However, even as the day went by, even as she washed away the bloody towels, and as she chided Caro to remain inside and let her retrieve the buckets of water, she still felt his eyes, staring at her, vacant.  

And she swore she even heard a voice say, " _Traitor_."


	2. Chapter 2

Maria became a different person. 

A bitter scowl replaced her tenderness. The concern in her eyes lay absent, now shrouded in a cloud of insensibility. Her fair skin, so healthy and vibrant, appeared dull and grayish, as if death had touched her skin.  

Certainly, to a keen eye, Maria looked miserable.  

Filled with preoccupation, Anna became restless. If Maria did not return to her original self, she worried that her friend may succumb to an illness. And with Caro being stubborn, Anna wondered what she could possibly accomplish without Maria to guide her.  

Trepidation gripped her.  

Looking at Maria, Anna wondered if she should tell her to rest. For the past few days, Maria had not slept. Occupied with the young man, she devoted her time to his being, by redressing the bandages around his wounds and offering prayers in his name. She became fixated in him. 

Anna felt the same obligation, but not as severe as Maria. Maria, perhaps it be a reminder of her failure, her devotion stemmed from their inexperience to save Alone. His death became too difficult to handle. Memories of him flashed through Anna's mind and it engulfed her in sorrow. She wished she could see him one more time. 

But the thought perished when Maria spoke. At first, Anna did not hear it, until her friend spoke again. 

"Alone." 

Lifting her head from her knees, Anna looked at Maria, a somber gaze reflecting in her eyes. Maria, with her back turn, sat on a stool, staring at the young man, who slept soundlessly in Alone's bed.  

"Maria?" she called.  

A response could not be given when both girls jumped at the sudden intrusion.  

… 

… 

An ominous threat stirred Shun awake. Constant movement alerted his senses; the soil of shoes rubbed against the wooden planks. Shouts ensued followed by the barks of command; a power struggle between the dominant males and the unrelenting girls. 

Shun opened his eyes. The hazy perception relented into a perfect image of a white bed-sheet covering his visage. He shifted his eyes to a side. Someone stared at him through the sheet. Then the sheet moved away and on command his cosmos burst throughout his entire being.  

It happened in a second.  

For a brief glimpse, Shun met the frightened expression of a man, mouth agape; until he flew and crashed into the opposite direction, away from the callous Andromeda. He looked at the other recipients. The girls, huddled near a corner, stared at him in bewilderment. The men, one gripping the scalp of young boy, scuttled back, dropping the boy in the process.   

Fear etched across their features. One of the men pressed his back against the wall, his plump legs trembling. The other, green eyes searching quickly around him, locked his eyes on the boy. He moved forward, thin fingers reaching. But the chains of Andromeda pushed him back in a whiplash of chains, sending him—and his partners—crashing against the wall, enough for the stones to crumble in. 

Far from dead, they groaned in protest.  

Breathing heavily, Shun succumbed to a knee. The coils of Andromeda slithered against his palms until it disappeared in particles of light. In a flash, he raised his head and grimaced. The side of his head began to pound. He immediately placed a hand against it. With an eye shut, he looked at the corner. The girls were gone. He searched for the boy. The boy was gone as well.  

Rising slowly, as the headache ceased, he moved across the room, out toward the bent wooden door. The sunlight received him in warmth. Murmurs increased in volume. He couldn't see at first—the light blinded him for a second—until the image cleared and he saw a crowd outside the home. And there, slipping through the crowd, the eldest girl sheltered the boy from prying eyes with an arm wrapped around his shoulders. The second girl, near the same age as the boy, followed not far behind.  

Then she turned, and they locked eyes.  

He moved on instinct, worried for them. But the eldest stopped and looked behind.  

Her eyes spoke in volumes.  

Anger darkened her expression, her bottom lip quivered. A rush of hot tears slid down her cheeks. And out of her mouth, he was labeled a murderer. Flummoxed, he hardly could conjure up a reaction to rebuke her claim. But she came after him, stripping her protection from the boy, and hurdling an attack toward him with an outburst of lunacy. 

"You did it!"  

"You killed him!" 

"Murderer! Murderer!" 

Before she reached him, before the hurdles of false judgment took a reality of itself in his mind, Shun fled. He jumped from home to home, his feet barely touching the clay tiles. Away from her misconception, he rushed into a city, unfamiliar with the sight. Not a single thing clicked his memory of where he was.  

Falling further into his confusion, he jumped precariously onto a clay tile and slipped. Down he went, stumbling on hands and knees and landing on his back with a thud. He gritted his teeth when the pain shot throughout his entire core. No time to rest, he pushed through the pain and rolled onto his side. Slowly, he rose on his feet.  

To a side of him, a brown-haired woman watched him from her doorway. Eyebrows shot upward, hand against her robust chest, she took her large frame inside, shutting the shutters as quickly as she entered. He stared at her window, for a second or two, then presumed onward. To his obscurity, a blood trail followed his every step. 

… 

Shun had passed out.  

For when he regained consciousness, he had opened his eyes to an unfamiliar room with no recollection on how he arrived. The last thing he remembered was that he walked aimlessly throughout the city, then after that, well, his mind conjured up nothing. He took in the room. It appeared filthy, with stains against the walls, the wallpaper tearing. It reeked of alcohol, sweat, and in between a waft of smoke lingered. He laid on a tore sheet, barely concealing the yellow stains on the mattress.  

Ignoring the state of the bed, he looked around the room and found in the corner his pile of dirty clothing stained in blood. He noticed his bare torso. A white bandage, now colored in red, had been wrapped around his stomach. He groaned and sat up, slowly peeling away the bandage. The last layer gone, he gasped at the gash, now sown with a black thread, the blood now dried. 

Similar cuts adjourned his body, not as severe as the one around his stomach. He touched his skin, the smell of the candle wax reached his nose.  

"Don't be doin' that." 

A middle-aged woman, with a front tooth missing, moved toward the bed, carrying a pile of clothing in her hands. She laid them on the bed, raised her messy bun, and smiled at him.  

"Glad to see ye a'rite." She walked around the bed, picking up his old pile of clothes. "Find ye in the alley, not far from here. Bleedin' to death, that ye were." She looked at each clothing, grimacing at the state of each one. "No good. Oh well. Best be usin' it for somethin' else." 

She met his gaze. "Ye should be careful, especially with yer throat." 

Shun raised his hand quickly around his throat, and under his fingertips, he felt a second bandage, unaware of that before.  

"Horrible sight that one." 

His eyes followed her. 

"What happened to ye, boy?" 

Eyebrows drawn together, he looked away, unsure, but nestled in the back of his mind he knew where the injuries came from. Still—as he looked around the room, his brain catching up with the recent events—he could not believe that he stood alive in what he perceived to be real. He wondered: could it be a Monday or a Tuesday? 

He turned toward the woman. With her hand coiled around a raggedy drape, she looked out the window, checking the crowd below. He opened his mouth to draw out her attention but he croaked. 

He tried again but more sounds emitted from his throat, until eventually he coughed and hacked up a bloody phlegm. 

"Here." She placed in his hand a worn out towel. "It be best not to use yer voice." She grabbed the clothes next to her. "Ye should get dressed. Can't keep ye for long. Gonna have company soon. Come on. I'll help ye." 

With little understanding to what was happening, he allowed her to dress him. He set aside the towel given to him, and he buttoned up a crisp white shirt. He pulled, as much as he could, and as much as she assisted, the dark breeches up to his hips. The socks and boots she placed on, occasionally commenting on his physique and about the other men in her life bearing no similarities to his lean build.   

"Thank the heavens that the last man I serviced was close to yer build." She buttoned up his coat and placed a cravat around his neck, tucking it inside. "A bit loose but hardly noticeable. It will do." 

She forged across the room, dumping the clothes in the corner, muttering, "Best handled this later." Wiping her hands against her burgundy gown, she pushed her bosom together, ensuring that her cleavage attracted the man she was seeing next.  

Shun's face grew hot. Not accustomed to such outward behavior, he turned his head, hiding the blush on his cheeks. 

The woman did not comment on his behavior; instead, she scrambled across the room, gathering the bloody bandages and tossing them in a wooden bucket to a side. He watched as she inspected the room, ensuring that it was at least suitable for whatever interactions she would have with that man.  

With his eyes on her back, she glanced at him. He gave a hesitant smile. The corners of her lips tugged upward. 

A peaceful exchange, only to be sullied by the commotion in the next room. Both had jumped and had heard the escalation of a man and woman in the other room. It drew the woman's attention, enough for her to pick up her skirts and hustled out the door. With the escalation now controlled by the man in the next room, Shun heard faintly a woman crying.  

Standing up from the bed, he teetered on his feet. Feeling weak and lightheaded, he succumbed to his knees and placed a hand against the mattress. In the background, the shouting increased. The woman's cries had died out. He rose again, slowly, and forced his feet to comply with his command. Passing through the door became easy. The hallway, however, became a different matter.  

Women in their lingerie, hairs in messy buns, crowded the door of his destination. He felt a tinge of embarrassment but he pushed the thought at the back of his mind. Their state of dress did not concern him. The woman from the room, however, did. He could hear her shouting, demanding that person to leave.  

He pushed onward, placing his hand against the wall as he did. 

… 

Valentine stood in the foyer when the young man—nay, a teenager, with a childlike face, green tresses hiding his fear-stricken face—stumbled down the stairs. He darted passed the women in their robes, pushed down the clientele, and rushed out the entrance door. Smeared across the walls and on the front door rested a bloody handprint.  

High exclamations filled the room. Women darted up the stairs. Their clients followed, intrigued of the event. Others remained behind. Few left the establishment. And out of the masses only four chased after the teenager but subsequently returned. Neither understood how he disappeared so quickly. 

Harpy Valentine, however, had an idea.  

He exited the establishment.  

Not much had he learned from the whore's mouth. Just riddles and conjectures, hardly any reliable information; although, the only clue he extracted was that an orphanage took in the vessel of Hades. In fact, the orphanage lay not far from here. That would've been his immediate priority had the teenager not appeared. He disliked when his priorities changed but he abided to the new development due to the immense cosmos he detected from that young lad.  

No human should possess such power. Not even his Lord Rhadamanthys could reach to that level of power. Impossible. Improbable. Such power should be destroyed. 

But... 

As Valentine stopped in his chase, he conjured up another possibility: to detain that power. A ludicrous idea but optional. Still killing the teenager would be the best option. He could hardly see that boy—or young man as society sees him—joining their masses.  

It would be best to destroy a possible threat. Yes, for his Lord Rhadamanthys. 

Mind clear with intent, he strode forward. 

…  

Maria had left them with the priest, stating, "Perhaps their God can provide protection."  

Anna had scoffed at the notion that some fable God could protect them. Even the gods that Maria prayed to were a fabrication, crucial in the time of the Trojan War, but now … now they were useless. The nine-year-old had stopped believing in deities since Alone's death. And no one, not even the priest, could ever change her mind.  

Hence, she escaped from the church, Caro following right behind her heels. She won't be subjugated to listen to the rambling of an old man and be sent to a nunnery. Nor would she tolerate Maria leaving them behind.  

There lay but one destination in mind: the orphanage. That was their home, the only one they had. Even Maria would most likely venture there. And if she was, for once Maria would be given the scolding, not her. Plus, Anna, even Caro, who remained silent thus far, deserved an explanation. Because, even if her actions were of sound mind, Anna still could not understand her motive.  

Did Maria not understand the importance of her role? She was like their mother.  

Inside the orphanage, they burst through the door-ridden entrance. Anna searched the room and smiled upon relief when she saw Maria, on a wooden stool, vacantly staring at the bed the stranger had once occupied.  

"Maria," Anna called out her name, gently. 

The fifteen-year-old did not turn to acknowledge the young child. 

"Maria?" She approached the eldest in hesitation. An ominous dread settled in the room, warning her to retreat as far as possible. Instead she ambled forward, each step becoming heavier than the last.  

"Maria," she called.  

Extending an arm, she placed a hand on her shoulder.  

"Mari—" 

The dismal expression was gone replaced by pure rage. Maria latched on to Anna; even when the young child slammed her back against the ground her attacks continued. Scalp burning, her brown locks were pulled out of her pigtails. She fought against the eldest out of desperation and despair until Caro appeared, pulling her off from the smallest. This angered Maria; her attention turned to Caro. 

He beseechingly tried to reason with her but his attempts failed. Nothing could deter Maria from her rampage. She attacked Caro; her hands squeezing the life out of the boy. He fought against her, though his strength was lacking, caused by the malnourishment and starvation, that he knew it wouldn't last. His hands gripped her hair as it came undone from its tie. Last of strength he pulled.  

But she did not stop, not even at the protest of Anna.  

Not even when Tenma called her name.  

She finally came to a stop when she was pulled off of Caro and saw Tenma in front of her. With the rage gone, she despaired, crying, with snot dripping from her nose, begging for forgiveness of failing to save Alone. Hysteria claimed her as she continue to spill her guilt, mindless of Tenma's concern, until … the light faded from her eyes and she slipped into nothingness. 

Tenma, confused of the ordeal, had only one question. "What happened here?" 

Anna could not speak; she was crying. She turned her back to him and rubbed her face against her arm. There was much to be said, no doubt. But with Maria's strange behavior, none knew where to start, let alone think of what they should do. Luckily, the two men with Tenma took charge, each assessing the children.  

The man, who came to her, extended his hand. Anna looked up and stared into the warmest brown eyes she ever saw. Reaching out, she took his hand, and the fear dispersed.  

Peace came to her, if only for a brief moment. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Shun had little recollection of what had transpired between him and that man in the room adjacent to his. He faintly recalled a hot sensation going through his veins; his hearing lost amid the confusion and rage. And in that pinnacle of time, when awareness entered and blindness fled, he had awoken with his hands wrapped around the man’s neck, lifeless. Blood matted the back of the man’s head, contaminating Shun’s own two hands. Startled by the revelation, Shun rose quickly to his feet, his eyes taking in his bloody hands until the women’s shuffles and alarms alerted him.

Disbelief, but mostly fear, appeared in the few women that managed to look at him. Even the woman, who helped him with his current dress, fled. From their scrutiny, he ran. The men—clients? bodyguards? —looked for him, even when his presence no longer lingered. Still, they searched, justice consuming their minds. More like a noose envisioned around his pale neck.

Nowhere deemed safe. And in an essence, such thought was not far from the truth. He had no destination in mind. Away from here, far away, became his mantra. But with his wounds slowing him down, he knew, essentially, that far away would be far from a reality.

Along with the fact that he did not venture alone.

Someone followed him, their cosmos an indication. A hostile presence greeted his own power. The possibility of a fight grew high, and in his current condition, he would not fare well. Still, he would not let the Underworld be his next destination.

The wounds began to pester. He glanced down to his stomach; the blood had now soaked through his shirt and vest, but barely touching his petticoat. A laugh almost erupted from his lips at the absurdity of his situation.

“You’re injured.”

Startled, Shun turned and met the eyes of a man on a mission. Cold and collected the man seemed, as his eyes traveled down Shun’s form, taking in every wound and bandages his eyes could see until he gazed unto Andromeda’s face. The man moved forward, and as he walked, dark flames burned his robes away to reveal a surplice underneath.

Shun froze in fear; the beating of his heart drumming in his ear.

Closer and closer the man came.

With his fear replaced with urgency, Shun felt the slither of Andromeda wrap around his wrists, slithering to the ground, determined to defend its master. The enemy stopped, and took in the sight of the chains, watching as they rattled and danced, observant to his next movement.

“What are you?” He stared at Shun. “You have no cloth but hold the chains of Andromeda. An unlikely occurrence when I murdered the Andromeda Saint a full moon past. I doubt the Goddess Athena could find someone so quickly in a matter of days.”

Silence.

Angered at his lack of vocalization, the man’s cosmos flared; aura consumed with hostility. He spoke in a brash manner, “Are you a deity, perhaps? Or a demi-god? Zeus did like to fondle with humans, a trait his daughter carries.”

The silence carried.

It seemed inevitable, with the enemy’s anger rising, a fight would ensue, there was no doubt. Not that Shun seemed prepared to fight. With his mind lingering on the man’s words—he murdered on the night of a full moon by him? Surely, he jest, when the Lord of the Underworld was his murderer—Shun relented to question the man…

…only to discover that he held no voice.

Denial overcame him. He could have not possibly lost his voice. But, then, why not? Did he not suffer tremendous wounds around his neck, to the point that his head was not attached to his body? Hades did love to cut his neck, more than any other body part.

But…something seemed amiss. Surely, he did not lose his voice because of that, unless this was his punishment. No, it didn’t feel right. He wasn’t convinced that was the case.

Returning his gaze to the stranger, Shun ripped the bandages from his throat, exposing the jagged lines to his enemy, anything to awaken his recollection. Instead, the man stared and said not a word.

It was then Shun realized that indeed something was amiss.

  
…

  
“Alone is dead,” Anna said. “It’s been two weeks since we buried his body.”

Tenma gasped at the news, taking two steps back as if the impact pushed him off his feet. His eyes took in the damaged room, searching for the lie, instead, the truth appeared from the empty bed that had once belonged to Alone. He choked on his tears, his breathing erratic. Then he swallowed, his throat dried from heightened emotions.

“How did he die?”

Tenma should’ve asked the question but Shion of Aries spoke in his stead.

“I … It’s difficult to say.”

Again, Shion voiced, “What do you mean?”

“That ... That I don’t know what caused his death.”

Shrouded in mystery was what became of Alone’s death. Such news troubled Tenma. He closed his eyes for a moment. The image of Alone, smiling, with tears falling down his face, surfaced, along with their promise of achieving their dreams until they met again. The saint-in-training struggled to breathe at the recollection.

In the background, Shion of Aries continued the conversation with Anna. Tenma tried to listen—“There wasn’t much we could do for him.”—He tried to focus on their words—“Not even a name?”—But he was overwhelmed by the shock and despair, that he felt the pressure consume him, drown him in his state of confusion.

Until Dohko of Libra gripped his shoulders, shattering his reverie.

“Are you alright?”

Escape—that first word came to mind. He had to escape.

Tenma retreated from the cottage; the touch of Dhoko’s hands still lingered on his shoulders, even as the cool air met his sweaty skin. The night sky … it looked so peaceful from where he stood. A harsh contradiction to the despair upon his soul. He wanted to scream, to voice obscenities, anything to release the turmoil inside of him. But he stood, with his fists at his side, staring at the night sky, not a word escaping from his lips.

Behind, he felt Dohko approach, his footsteps heavy against the cobblestones.

Tenma spoke, his tone thick. “They… They need to go somewhere safe. I…I can’t leave them here.”

Dohko replied not.

Pivoting on his heel, he spoke brazenly, “Do you have nothing to say!”

The Libra stood his ground, staring into the face of his enraged pupil. Breathing heavily, Tenma watched as his master turned his eyes, the starlight sky catching his eye.

“And where would they go?” he asked at last.

“Anywhere from here!” Tenma shouted.

Even at his outburst, his master remained calm, unaffected by his tirade. It was enough for Tenma to look away, down the vacant street, where he and Alone used to play. Visage crumbling, he shut his eyes, forcing the memory away.

“I will talk to Shion,” Dohko said after a brief silence.

Tenma did not know when his master left, or for how long he remained alone, but once realization settled in, he wished he wasn’t alone to face the reality of the situation. Helpless, he sat, taking in the silent air. Beyond his personal space, his comrades stood, waiting for orders. Few glanced his way, but none dare approach. Not that Tenma wanted their attention—or maybe he did.

Then she appeared.

She looked at him, a silver mask obscuring her features. On her person, she bore a cloak, thick and heavy, a tumble of blond hair and rosy scarf barely visible. As she walked, a glimpse of her skin flashed, showing the white bandages wrapped around her thigh and ankle.

She said, “Control yourself, future Pegasus. Now is not the time to lose oneself.”

He took her words in silence; nothing needed to be said.

Shion appeared from within the cottage then. Mildly shocked at her appearance, he held his composure and directed his attention toward Tenma.

“The children will go to Rodorio for now,” was all he said. The message delivered, he turned to the woman—and they retreated to a side, voices buried under Dohko’s loud command to the other saints.

The saint-in-training looked away, relieved a tad. The cottage in his sight, he took in the exterior, smiling sadly at the memories held within. His eyes strayed to the doorway. Anna stood at the entrance, watching, perhaps even waiting for his acknowledgment.

Tenma gave a faint smile.

Much to be said, but so little time.

He wished he could tell her something, anything at all. But he stood affixed, watching as she returned his smile.

In the night, a cosmos flared, ripping his attention away.

  
…

The night sky flared. Thunderous clashes between two souls rocked the community. Residents fled the scene, screaming as buildings crumbled under the might of the Harpy. The lone warrior, with jagged lines around his throat, succumbed to his injuries. He fell to his knees, the outburst of blood escaping his lips.

Dazed, the scenery blurred, in and out of focus. Shun tried to look at his enemy. Crimson tainted his blonde locks, not of his own, but rather from the Andromeda. Though a few lacerations adorned his arms and face it was nothing in comparison to what Shun received.

With old wounds mixed with new, Shun knew the inevitable.

Death approached.

As if he would allow it.

He stood on his legs, swaying on his feet.

With the screeches in the air, the harpies descended from the sky, flying next to their master, soulless eyes watching. Shun closed his eyes. Blood obscured his vision. In the night, they screeched, a soft breeze caressing his face, the sign of their movement. They descended upon him from above, from the sides. The chains of Andromeda rattled, rising and falling, its master’s power fleeting.

The cloth knew then that their master barely had the will to fight.

Then a light cascaded from the heaven and a winged-horse descended. It obliterated a few enemies, though much remained. Blessed, Shun felt. At least his enemy would not receive the satisfaction of killing him.

The harpies cried throughout the night.

He saw the flames and the darkness collide and the shadows dance in between. Until his vision took in the approaching figure, a teenager close to his age. He looked up to the stranger; amber eyes met his forest green; and in that youthful face, he saw Seiya.

Relieved, he slipped into unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

In the darkness, a voice rang, concern laced in her tone. With heavy-lidded eyes, Shun met a feminine face, blurred and obscured by the slumber overtaking him. Her hands touched his face, cradling his cheeks, which oddly to Shun, who tensed under her touch, relaxed at the warmth she possessed.

“He’s fighting. That’s a good sign.” Forehead against forehead, her breath, warm, with a lace of mint intertwined, invaded his sense of smell. “He won’t die so easily.”

“He has accepted his fate,” a second voice chimed, assertive in his tone.

She pulled away, her hands leaving his cool face. “No, he’s trying to fight!” The silence interceded—and her hand fell flat against his forehead. “Did you find any answers in the scrolls?”

“No.”

The fabric of her cloth brushed against his skin before he felt her forehead against his. “Then he will die.” She took in a deep breath. “I’m so sorry.”

…

Shun awoke, his mind heightened. He sat up in an unfamiliar scenery: tall trees, the sound of birds chirping in the distance, and the sunlight peeking through the branches. He rose at once, and the birds fled, wings flapping, a feather swaying to the ground. The forest, now serenely quiet, stood majestically under the rays of the sun, a sight that was calmly becoming familiar to Shun, but no memory surfaced.

Leaves crunching, he turned to the cause—and met Seiya.

“Sleeping on the job, huh?” He chuckled. “Ikki will be pissed.”

Eyes wide, mouth agape, Shun could not congregate a sound. Part of him reasoned that this was not real; the other, the dominant, made him believe it was, but when he saw that whimsical smile on Seiya’s face, he knew the truth.

“Shun, hold on, okay?”

Seiya smiled, then faded into particles of light, the scenery fading with him until Shun stood on the peak of a hill, covered with a thick layer of snow. He took in the frozen landscape, the cool wind barely chilling his bones. At the edge, an old friend waited.

“I understand your fear, Shun,” Hyoga spoke. “I’ve dealt with this fear too.” His blond friend turned, a slight smile on his lips. “I wish we could help, but sadly...” Hyoga sighed, a mist falling from his lips. “Shun, keep fighting.”

The rush of water overcame the howls of the wind.

Shun turned to the source.

At the edge, near the waterfall, Shiryu sat, chest barren, legs entwined, as he settled in a trance.

“You must fight, Shun.” Shiryu somewhat turned his head. “For our sake.”

Then the scenery cracked and fell like glass, his friends falling with it. In the night, where the light did not illuminate, Shun panicked and waited for the sun to ascend. It never did.

But he was far from alone.

In the dark recess of his mind, a voice spoke, “Don’t be afraid, little brother. I know you’ll be fine.”

Then he awoke, his clothes clinging to his skin, as a layer of sweat drenched his body. Something moist—a wet towel—rested on his forehead. He searched the cell for the visitor, as much as his neck allowed him, until a saint appeared, clothed in gold. The saint settled a bucket nearby and draped a dry cloth on the rim. He then sat on his knees, meeting Shun’s gaze.

Brown eyes. Short hair. The Libra cloth shined against his light skin. It felt strange to meet another Saint alive such as he, but what was even more strange was that the Gold Saint of Libra held a familiar face. Still, his name did not surface.

“Athena will be happy to see you awake,” he spoke. “Perhaps the only one.” His eyes said it all—he did not trust him. “I have many questions to ask but, considering your circumstances, I doubt I’ll have my answers.” He looked up, staring out the small window where a ray of light entered and illuminated a tile. “The Pope says you’re cursed—death waits on the other side.”

When he returned his gaze, Shun closed his eyes, contemplating. So much to contemplate—Athena? The Gold Saint of Libra? The Pope? And he dying?—he could not settle on one thought. He felt relieved when the saint spoke.

“Have you heard of the name Alone?” The saint asked.

Shun creased his forehead, which elicited a sigh from the Libra.

Methodically the Libra removed the damp towel from Shun’s forehead and replaced it with a fresh one. Shun shuddered at the cool sensation, a chill running down his spine, but he relaxed, once the temperature receded.

“Lord Dohko!”

In the serenity, a voice rang, shrill in desperation. A soldier emerged from around the corner, frantically searching for the man in question when his eyes landed on the Libra Saint. He entered the cell and bowed his head.

“Lord Dohko! You must come with me!”

Dohko rose to his feet. “What’s wrong?”

“Lady Athena requests your presence immediately, sir!”

The mere mention of Athena’s name prompted Dohko to act. He rushed out of the cell, the soldier a step behind him. As for Shun, who heard Athena’s name above all else, forced his body to move—but his body, weak from the wounds, could not move as quickly as his thoughts. He turned his upper body, slapping his hands on the ground to keep it upright; in the process, the towel from his forehead fell and hit the tiles under his bleary sight.

The world swirled in between reality and unconsciousness that he had no choice but to retreat to his previous position, watching the ceiling sway until it solidified into one. He took a breath, the headache pounding, as footsteps approached through his confusion.

“Typical of Dohko to rush into a situation without a second thought.”

Emotionless, guarded, those were the first two words that came to Shun’s mind when he met the ruthless eyes of the Gemini Saint. And just like the Libra Saint, a name did not surface to mind. However, he will admit that the Gemini looked quite familiar to a man they had defeated; a man bent on power; a man who sought redemption in his second life; but that man wasn’t this man—no, far from it. Their auras did not match. Yes, perhaps that would explain why he did not feel familiar with the Libra Saint.

Lost in thought, Shun did not realize how close the Gemini Saint was to him; a second ago he was near the cell bars, now he stood, near his tired body. He examined him under his blue eyes, like an insect under a telescope.

“Ah, the one who holds Lady Athena’s attention.” He stood upright and recited, “‘The naming of the Pope has been postponed due to the rather abrupt appearance of Lady Athena’s friends.’” He chuckled. “Of course, a prisoner was mentioned, one cursed to die a slow death.”

The Gemini looked at Shun.

“Lady Athena was distraught over your health. She… cares too much for others.” Crouching, he grabbed a wisp of Shun’s hair in between his fingers. “The least I can do is end this charade,”—his hair slipped from his fingertips— “and be named the Pope.”

“It will be over quick.” Hand poised in the air, he smiled. “Trust me.”

In the grip of silent panic, Shun watched as the hand descended, the death blow mere inches from his face when the Gemini stopped. The seconds fleeting and his death sentence lay forgotten. In the eyes of his assassin, he saw fear.

The Gemini pulled away, retreating to the cell bars, where his back lay against the solid iron. Shun could not fathom where his thoughts lay, but by the look on his pale face, he knew that whatever gripped him had a hold on his mind.

The Gemini spoke, quietly at first, until his voice rose in volume, “What is this? What are you?”

His eyes never strayed from the Andromeda.

Until his concentration shattered and he clawed at his face until it bled.

Shun merely watched the man drag his nails against his skin.

“Aspros,” a voice rang.

In a second, a man, identical to the Gemini, appeared, with a mask tied around his face. And although they share a similar appearance, the man in the mask was thinner, tan, and different from the first. Even his eyes, a dark shade of blue, held more emotion than the Gemini.

“Aspros, what’s wrong?”

Aspros held still, staring at what Shun assumed to be his brother, eyes locked with his. A wrinkle formed between his brows, muscles tight, jaw clenched. He pushed his brother to a side, hard enough to send him flying into the wall. The brother gasped, his body falling to the ground, and Shun, from his standpoint, no longer saw the man’s form.

“I…” The man named Aspros spoke. “What am I doing?” He looked at his hands in disbelief.

“Aspros!” The twin stood, unaffected by the blood trickling down his face, his mask forgotten on the ground. He grabbed the Gemini by his shoulders, his breath mere inches from his, yelling, “Snap out of it, brother!”

Aspros, disregarding his brother’s plea, stared at the Andromeda, callous eyes never blinking. Then he moved, a step at a time, his brother pushing him back, demanding that he stay still. This angered the Gemini Saint.

“Don’t test me,” he warned.

In that moment, before the second twin could react to the first, Aspros pushed his brother aside, walking, with a stagger in his step, toward the prisoner on the ground. And before he reached the prisoner’s side, the second reacted, grabbing his brother by his shoulder, twisting him, making him face the rage the brother exposed on his face.

“Who are you!”

The question went unanswered, no matter how many times he asked.

Until there was stillness on both sides.

Then suddenly movement—the second fell on his back, his head smashing against the tiles. The first gazed at him with cold eyes, his fists delivering each blow, as the blood spilled and sullied the area around his head. And Shun, watching the scene unfold before his eyes, rose to his feet, his legs shaking before he firmly held his ground and tackled the Gemini off his twin.

They slid on the ground, near the iron bars.

Shun groaned and opened his eyes, his vision blurry and unsteady. The Gemini moved, the strays of his blue hair bobbing like a smudge of crayon. Shun rolled on his back, watched as the Gemini straddle his waist, as his sweaty palms gripped his bandaged neck.

The pressure became immense.

Shun struggled under his hold, gasping for breath. His lungs begged for oxygen as the tears slid down his cheeks absentmindedly. The Gemini was relentless, his eyes never losing the harshness in his face. Then, as an answer to Shun’s prayers, he was pushed off as the younger brother held him down. Shun coughed and wheezed, bringing a hand to his neck.

In a haze, he saw the second twin slap the first, shouting, “Aspros, please snap out of it!”

But the Gemini did not return to his former self, not even at the plea of his brother.

He pushed the younger twin off his form and glared at the Andromeda. And with a snarl, he stood, unaffected by the blood trailing down his face, unaffected by his brother’s insistence to stop. He stood with determination and grabbed the Andromeda—and they teleported away, before an open field where the trees encased them.

Shun was dropped on the ground without hesitation. But he quickly rose on his feet, ready to defend his life, for death was not a choice; but when he stood and faced the Gemini, he saw a broken man, staggering on his feet, yelling into his hands for release.

The heavens, even the gods, could hear the agony in his screams. It did not stop, not even when the twin appeared, his face, bloodied and bruised from being punched by the first. As the screams dwindled down, and the silence approached, the Gemini stood upright and glared at Shun.

Out of his lips, he spat, “Traitor.”

And then in a flash, he disappeared and reappeared before Shun’s eyes. His hand reached and caught the Andromeda by the neck, strangling him in the air, his eyes brimming at the sheer panic Shun displayed.

“You will not win,” he spoke, his voice so disembodied, as if someone else entirely was speaking instead of the man in front of him. “I will…”—Aspros struggled to breathe, his hand releasing the tension around Shun’s neck before the pressure reapplied — “… I will not let you win.”

His life, at the brink of death, did not fall into the hands of Hades, once again. The second appeared, punching his brother in the back of his head, enough for the Gemini to release Shun from his grasp. The Gemini staggered, the blood spilling and falling on the dew below his feet. Breathing heavily, he looked at the Andromeda, the blood painting a grotesque picture of an insane man with red-stained teeth.

“I will not let you win.” He moved forward, each step slowly approaching, each step tainting the grass beneath his feet with blood. “I will beat you, Shun, Ha—”

His sentence ended short, for the twin punched him across the face, silencing the Gemini into a stupor. He slumped to the ground, slowly, as the brother held him, cradling his body in his arms.

With a wobbly tone, the brother spoke, “I’m sorry, brother.”

The sun streamed against the grass, yet the atmosphere grew gray. In anguish, the brother remained near Aspros, silently crying and whispering regrets. Shun, with his life no longer in danger, fell on his knees, the exhaustion finally taking its toll.

For a moment there was peace …

… yet the danger remained.

In their incognizant, a dark form fled from the Gemini Saint. Like a snake, it slithered across the grass, ready to claim its next victim. By the time the twin realized what had left his brother’s form, he could not warn the prisoner of his fate. Instead, the shadow emerged and engulfed Shun whole, taking him down the pits of hell, where the underworld reveled in the screams of their victims.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are 26 chapters in total, maybe less if I decide to combine a few chapters together, but for right now there are 26 chapters. Updates will be more frequent. If I do not post by next week, then I apologize in advance—I got busy with work. Thank you for reading.


	5. Chapter 5

News spread quickly of the prisoner’s escape. Manigoldo had informed his master about the incident, along with the possibility of a struggle, the blood being evident in the cell. It was highly impossible for a wounded man to have easily put up a fight. When the Pope had heard Aspros was missing, he feared the worst.

The Gemini, although he appeared fine, was upset about the sudden change of plans in the naming of the new Pope—but, then again, it was hard to tell if the man was indeed upset. He did go to the prisoner’s cell, perhaps that was an indication. Of course, Sage did not want to judge him right away; it was all rather a coincidence or so he wished to believe.

But as much as the Pope wanted to find the prisoner and the Gemini Saint, his priority was focused on Lady Athena’s health. Ever since her friend, Maria, arrived, Athena became negligent in her duties; and when her friend had succumbed to unknown illness, she refused to leave her friend’s side.

He knew what that girl meant to his goddess, but she had her responsibilities.

When he entered the medical bay, he heard the moans of a dying girl and smelled the stench of vomit in the air at once. Lady Athena sat at the head of the bed, the girl’s head resting on her lap. She smoothed the girl’s hair out of her face, praying silently, as the girl moved her head, red and black swirls dancing across her flesh.

The handmaids stood to a side, silent, heads bowed, waiting for a command. They did not acknowledge the Pope; they did not want to interrupt their goddess’ plight. Instead, they bowed in sincerity and returned to their previous position.

As the goddess gave her prayer, kissing the girl’s cheeks and eyelids, the room grew vibrant when Tenma arrived, Sisyphus, Dohko, and Shion right behind him.

“Sasha!” Tenma shouted. He moved forward quickly, joining Lady Athena’s side in a few strides. “What’s going on?”

Sasha smiled, a rather tired one. “Tenma,” she whispered, then turned to Maria, her euphoria dying. “I wish I knew.”

Pope Sage stepped forward. “Lady Athena, please, let us handle this.”

“I…” She hesitated, her hand placed on Maria’s hair. “I…”

She jumped when Degel shouted for help, as he and a man, similar looking to the Gemini Saint, carried Aspros from the shoulders and carefully laid him on a medical bed. Seeing the Gemini Saint unconscious, Sasha stood, letting the maids take over Maria’s wellbeing as she moved toward her saint.

“Aspros!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide in disbelief once she saw the marks on his skin. “That insignia…” They were similar in appearance to Maria’s. She turned her head to Degel. “What happened?”

The one who spoke was the man she did not know. “I don’t know, Lady Athena.”

She looked at him and saw his bloodied face, the purple welts forming around his cheekbones. It was the sad melancholic gaze that he had on his face that made her want to show him compassion but she instead asked for his name.

“Who are you?” she asked.

Her loyal advisor answered, “Defteros, Aspros’ twin brother.”

Aside from Degel, and Tenma, who busied himself with Maria’s health, the saints and their goddess held their breath in shock, wondering, questioning his rather silent existence.

Defteros simply scoffed, his sorrow quickly turning into rage. “So, the Grand Pope has heard of me. What a blessing.” The sarcasm dripped in his tone, along with his mistrust.

“Why haven’t you been known?” Sisyphus asked, making his presence known.

“Because I’m a shadow, a demon born under the star of Chaos,” he answered rather tame. “I will bring destruction—so the Oracle says.” His eyes slid to the Pope, who merely met his gaze in a silent observation. It was then Degel stepped in between the two, his head bowing a slight.

“He had nowhere else to go.” He looked up, determined. “I understand the risk of exposing him so do not punish him.”

The Pope merely scoffed at the idea. “I am not one to punish those in need.”

Perhaps Defteros was not expecting compassion, for he simply turned and stood by his brother’s side, his stance calm, his muscles relaxing. Aspros moaned, his head turning to the left, as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. With the armor on, there was no doubt it would be uncomfortable. Sasha touched his chest, allowing her power to seep through the armor, which stirred under her touch and left their master’s form, assembling nearby to keep a watchful eye.

With his chest exposed, she laid a hand on his heart.

“Tell us what happened,” she spoke, her eyes never leaving his brother.

Defteros inhaled a breath, the sadness returning to his form.

“I don’t know,” he said. “He … wasn’t himself—no, he hasn’t been himself for a long time.”

Sasha shifted on her knees. Defteros remained silent, lost in thought, watching as his brother fought for his life.

“Defteros,” she called out to him.

The trance was broken. He concealed his expression, refraining from showing any weakness. But she saw right through him and she wanted more than ever to hug him, but she did not move to touch him.

“I took the prisoner,” he said. Behind, Degel frowned. “Aspros followed, and then—something must have happened to him. He was spouting nonsense, calling the prisoner by his name, as if he knew him.”

“And what was his name?” she asked.

“Shun.”

Shun, an unfamiliar name, yet familiar at the same time. She placed a hand on her chest and gripped Aspros’ hand.

“What of the prisoner?” Pope Sage questioned.

“Gone.”

Lost in thought, the Pope said no more. It was at that moment that Defteros turned on his heel, determined.

“I will gladly take my punishment,” he said. He went on his knees, his hands spread, head bowed. And he remained that way for a moment, until Degel, snapping out of his shock, stepped forward, a furious expression taking his handsome face.

“But it wasn’t—”

The Pope raised his hand and Degel shut his mouth.

He spoke, in a calm tone, “Yes, you did something terrible.”

Although the Pope demanded silence, Degel spoke, disregarding his rule.

“Grand Pope Sage!”

Ignored, the Aquarius stood rigid, as the Pope approached Defteros and stood at arm’s length.

“You are dismissed, Defteros.”

The order of the Pope did not prompt Defteros to act; instead, the younger brother stood, his expression hard, his eyes colder than Bluegrad. He clenched a fist, voice taut, “I won’t leave my brother.”

The mistrust returned—then again it never left.

Sasha touched his hand. He turned his head, his gaze locked with hers, and in his expression, she saw his disdain. She pulled her hand away from his skin. He turned away.

The Pope spoke, “You will know your place.” The tension in the room grew tenfold; neither of the men backed down. The Pope continued, “You will help Sisyphus as the Gemini Saint.”

“You believe my brother to die,” Defteros spat.

“You misunderstand me,” he said. “The Holy War approaches, and with our strongest saint in turmoil, you must take his place for the time being.” With those words spoken, the younger twin hesitated, his anger evaporating. “Do it for your brother, Defteros.”

Fury blurred his sight, but he cooled his rage, stating, “I will never be the Gemini Saint.”

The Pope smiled light-heartedly. “No, you will never be him.” He turned to Sisyphus. “Search the perimeter with Defteros. Perhaps the prisoner is nearby.”

Sisyphus bowed his head. “Yes, sir.” Head raised, he turned to Defteros, who looked unsure. “Come, Defteros.”

He did not move, not without giving his brother a last look.

Sasha spoke, “He will be fine, Defteros. I promise.”

When he looked at her, she saw his guarded expression crack and reveal his tiredness. She reached out to him again, touching his hand, and this time, he gripped her hand in return. In haste, he let go and exited the room, Sisyphus behind him, asking if he needed medical treatment. Defteros said nothing and continued on, the Sagittarius following his every step.

Once the two left, Degel kneeled, his head bowed. “Grand Pope Sage, please, listen to me. Aspros was the one who took the prisoner.”

They stared at the Aquarius, shocked, as they tried to connect the dots but failed to understand the motive. The first to speak was Shion.

“Aspros?” His tone carried his disbelief.

He received a nod and again silence realm the room.

Under his breath, the Pope spoke, the words barely audible, but Sasha caught it. “Aspros, what were you thinking?”

The Gemini Saint turned his head, his breathing irregular, his pulse quickening. Sasha touched his chest, resting her forehead against his heart, offering a silent prayer. Power seeped through the room and died just as quickly. As she rose her head, she looked at the Gemini, who slept in peace. She removed his hair from his face, feeling the sweat against her palm. And though his mind was at ease, she knew that the pain would return. She gripped his hand; she had to do something.

Broken from her reverie, Shion stepped forward, speaking, “Pope Sage, if I may, all of this seems connected to the prisoner.”

Tenma, who had been silent, finally spoke, “What makes you say that?”

Shion crossed his arms. “The girl attacking her siblings, Aspros being controlled, and these insignias … Since the prisoner’s appearance, strange things have happened.”

Degel took his words, thinking heavily. “I have seen these marks before, as a child in Bluegrad.” He turned his attention to the Pope. “Grand Pope, a request: I wish to travel to Bluegrad.”

Understanding his motive, Sage nodded his head.

Shion drew close to Degel. “If you don’t mind, Degel, I would like to join you.”

Degel accepted his request, relieved that a comrade would help in his endeavor to find the root to these markings. Perhaps, they would even find a cure, with how large the library in Bluegard was. For now, both saints were determined to help their comrade and the maiden near his side.

Sasha smiled, finally understanding her role in this predicament. She rose and aimed toward the maids, and summoned her staff, releasing a breath to ease the nerves inside of her. This would not be easy, but she was determined.

“May you all leave for a moment?”

The maids stopped in their actions, their attention now focused on their goddess. The one in charge spoke, tentative in her tone, “My lady?”

Their goddess simply smiled.

The eldest maid knew not to question authority so she didn’t. Instead, she bowed her head, saying, “Very well, my lady,” and departed with the rest of the maids following her example.

Tenma looked at Sasha, questioning her motives. “Sasha?”

“I wish to ease their pain.” She looked at her saint and then her friend. “It will only take a moment.”

“Lady Athena—”

Sage tried to intervene, but she refused to budge.

“Please, Pope Sage, let me try.” She glanced at his direction then turned, gripping her staff in front of her. “It will only be a moment.”

He sighed. “Very well.”

At his approval, she bowed her head, calling forth the power within her. It engulfed the room in a heavenly light, ceasing the pain from the wounded, relieving the worry from the bystanders. It was a temporary relief. She turned to the others, near the entrance of the medical bay, and broke into a soft smile.

“Shion. Degel.” She glanced at them both. “I’m counting on you. For their sake.” Pause. “And my sake as well.” Her power surged—and a barrier formed around her and the damned.

Shocked, Tenma shouted, “Sasha!” followed by Dohko’s outburst, “Lady Athena!”

She knew she had to explain but she felt there was little time for an explanation to be given.

“I will ease their pain as much as I can,” she said, determined, even as her stance wavered and her exhaustion peaked.

Pope Sage took a step forward, gripping the robes on his person. “You must stop! You had no rest since—”

“I won’t stop!” she spoke in turn. She eased herself down on the ground, her white dress pooling around her knees. “I can see death approaching,” she said, calmly, “and it reaches for them, wanting to take my saint and friend down to the pits of Tartarus—and you know who controls the underworld.”

Sage looked away. “They will still die.”

“Not if I slow their deaths until a cure arrives.”

“Lady Athena…” his voice trailed off and he looked away. 

For a moment, there was silence. Then Lady Athena spoke, diverting her attention to the Libra Saint. “Dohko, find out who else was in contact with the prisoner.”

“I’ll go too,” Tenma chimed in.

“Tenma…” If they had the time, Sasha would’ve liked to have spoken to Tenma alone, to tell him about her fear of losing her friend and saint and perhaps more, instead she nodded her head in a form of gratitude.

And he understood.

He smiled.  “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I know you will, Tenma.”

And with that, Pope Sage took charge of the room and spoke in a high voice, “Go, all of you!”

In haste, they left, as Sasha prayed for their safe return.

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

The heavens spat Shun out, and he fell from the somber sky, grasping fruitlessly at the air to prevent his descent. But he continued to fall, the red river now visible beneath him. An ordinary man would’ve died from the impact but Shun was far from a normal man. When he slammed into the water, he fell unconscious for a moment then, just as quickly as he landed, he opened his eyes. All he saw was the color red.

His entire body screamed in pain but his priority was to escape. Swimming in blood would be toxic to his mentality. So, he swam up, through the red haze of bubbles, until he broke through the surface, the air now chilling his face.

Iron filled his nose, caked his hair, and dripped down his face. It surrounded him like a macabre series of dead bodies, the stench overpowering with death. Bothered by the fact, he saw the shoreline up ahead and swam toward it. With the soil beneath him, he felt at ease, but it quickly fled when he took in his surroundings.

Stones cluttered the land, ascending upward, where the waterfall descended. In the middle of the river, a grand tree sat, but beyond that, a barren wasteland laid. There was no sun, no blue sky, no living being that he could see. Instead, a foreboding presence engulfed him, his skin crawling in trepidation.

The Underworld never changed. He recognized it instantly the moment he adjusted to his surroundings. But he did not wish to familiarize with this land, not again. He had enough bad memories of this place—he did not want to add more. He forced himself to try to remember how he got here. The only recollection he had was that of a dark presence engulfing him.

What was it, and where was it? What was its purpose of dragging him down here? And was it still nearby?  

More questions began to accumulate, none without answers. It left Shun frustrated at the little he knew but he will not stand idly by for answers to come. He was in the enemy’s territory. It best he left.

“You are different from the others. Pure heart but conflicted,” a disembodied voice spoke.

Shun looked around and he spotted the man above the waterfall, encased in a golden sphere of light.

“A sinner nonetheless.”

Sinner? What did the gold saint mean? Most importantly, what was a gold saint doing here—no, in what alternate dimension did he find himself in with the Saints of Athena being alive? Hades eradicated them, imprisoned them, even turned them into a specter. And Athena… she…

“Ah, your aura. Are you perchance the one Athena fretted about?”

In his presence, an immense power emerged, not all soothing, but threatening.

“For you to be here only means death has reached you.” He cocked his head. “Ah, I see. It has not.” Pause. “Surely, Lord Hades’ men would find and erase your soul from existence.”

Panicked, Shun looked around. In his hands, the chains of Andromeda appeared, chiming in time with the waterfall.

“The sound of those chains…” Shun turned back to the Virgo Saint. “Andromeda?”

The chains rattled, as if answering the Virgo.

“How is this possible?” The Virgo looked disturbed. “Is this why you help him, Athena?” he asked himself.

Shun wished he knew what the Virgo Saint was rambling on about, but when he heard shouts from the distance, his mind went blank. He will not fall in the hands of his enemy—he will not be captured again! He looked at the Virgo for aid, only to feel disappointed when the Virgo Saint retreated back in the waterfall. Hopes dashed, Shun collapsed, out of fright and exhaustion.

He struggled to breathe, feeling an immense pressure on his chest, as if a stone sat on him. He needed to be calm, to think rationally. But when the shouts drew near, he nearly passed out.

Then it went silent. The weight from before lifted, and he felt nothing, not even the ground beneath him. He swore, however, that when he began to close his eyes, he saw a familiar dark essence emerge and engulf the Virgo Saint whole.

**…**

When the Virgo Saint awoke from his meditation, he gasped and fell forward. He was taken by surprise at the malice that emerged from the seemingly-innocent boy.

“A sinner indeed,” he said.

Footsteps drew near and Asmita rose his head. Across Aldebaran entered, ever so crossed with him, ever so dominating the room with his presence. He would’ve happily traded a few words with the Taurus, not to indulge his ire, rather to see what the others thought of his reclusiveness.

Yet, for now, he would simply fall and allow Aldebaran to take charge of his predicament.

“Asmita!”

How strange, he thought, for you to worry about me.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
